


It rhymes with pain

by Aeternitas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:25:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeternitas/pseuds/Aeternitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ordinary breakfast in Jeyne Poole's daily life as the Lady of Winterfell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It rhymes with pain

Jeyne Poole was cautious as never before. As she walked to breakfast, the fear followed her like a shadow. Fear haunted her every waking moment.

_But dead girls feel no fear._

They were breaking their fast in Winterfell’s great hall, gloomy in the dim half-light of morning. She felt her stomach sinking when she looked up at the high table. _Today is not a lucky day_. Ramsay Bolton was already there, sprawled between the stone wolves of Lord Stark’s high seat and drinking from a silver cup. Along the table sat the Bastard’s Boys, his favorite men-at-arms, eating and muttering amongst themselves. At the far end of the hall, alone in a corner, sat a huddled figure in rags on the floor. Gaunt as a starving beggar, Reek wore a dog’s chain and ate scraps from a dog’s bowl. _No,_ she thought. _His name is Theon_. But that was a forbidden thought, so she held her tongue.

Never making a sound, Jeyne sat down at her husband’s side, slowly and carefully, trying not to wrinkle her new gown of snow-white lambswool and soft lace. She felt a twinge of pain when she sat, but gritted her teeth. _Maybe he is in one of his better moods today_ , she hoped against hope. She answered politely at the questions she was asked, trying her best to give Lord Ramsay no cause to be angry.

Despite her fear and anxiety, Jeyne’s stomach rumbled hungrily. There was warm morning bread from the castle’s ovens, cheese and cold bacon, butter and honey, and blackberry preserves from summer. There were even lemoncakes, but the sight of them stirred unwelcome old memories in her. _Sansa loved these cakes,_ she remembered with painful clarity. _We would hide in the kitchens and steal them._ Sansa and Jeyne were once almost as sisters, two summer’s children who loved fairytales and songs of gallant knights. _But that girl is dead now_ , she reminded herself. There were some memories nearly as painful as Ramsay’s torments. _And I am Lady Arya, loving wife to Lord Ramsay, and that is all._

She prepared her food in silence, very careful not to drop a single crumb nor leave a stain. Her cup was filled by Ramsay’s squires, quietly attending to their lord and lady. Both were ten, both were squires, and both were Walder Frey. The larger boy was Little Walder and the smaller Big Walder, and they were ever Ramsay’s watchful spies. Now their eyes followed Jeyne, closely watching her table manners. _Be careful_ she thought. _Be very, very careful._ When she spooned the blackcurrant onto her bread, a few dark drops landed on the tablecloth.

Ramsay shot her a glare with his colorless pale eyes. She quaked in terror, her stomach filling with ice. Somewhere behind her, the Walders were snickering. He fixed her with his eyes, like twin chips of ice in a broad-boned face, gleaming with malice and anticipation. Unable to breathe, she felt like a little mouse cornered by a cat. _This is a game to him_ , she knew. Jeyne sustained his gaze and did not move, did not breathe, her heart pounding wildly in fear. But at last, after what seemed an agonizing eternity, Lord Ramsay finally lowered his icy eyes and resumed his breakfast.

Relief washed over Jeyne, and she let herself breathe again. But the damage was already done. She had won the game, but her husband was now annoyed with her. She was anxious now, a mass of wracked and shattered nerves, and Jeyne knew from long experience how clumsy and careless she could be when anxious. More mistakes would be made. More accidents would happen. Her right hand was beginning to shake, trembling like a leaf in a winter wind, and for a moment she was afraid she could not keep the heavy spoon in her hand. Not taking the risk of putting more on her bread, she lowered the spoon back in place aside her plate.

She knew the punishment for careless wives all too well. _I’ll have to do those things with the dog again._ Her skin crawled in revulsion at the memory, but she could not force herself to forget. _The things he made me do._ After he made her pleasure the dog with her tongue, licking at the animal’s manhood until she retched, he had forced her to couple with the beast. But not even having her mounted by dogs, crouched on all fours like a bitch in heat, was enough to slake Ramsay’s cruel lusts. _I’m a good wife,_ she’d thought at the time, weeping from the unnatural invasion. _Why am I being punished?_ He had commanded her to lay on the floor, legs spread far apart, and he'd forced raw meat into her ravaged slit. A starving hound was then loosed upon her, forcing its tongue and jaws inside Jeyne, chewing at whatever meat there was within her, biting into her folds. Two moons later, her flesh still stung from the wounds of the dog’s eating frenzy at her private parts. _And yet_ , she thought with a shudder, _even that beast’s touch was far gentler than Ramsay’s._

Her stomach roiling in nausea, she forced herself to snap out of her memories. Jeyne ate in silence and with her eyes kept low, taking only small measured bites as Septa Mordane had taught her, being fast but not sloppily hurried, as was proper for a young lady. She felt so sick from the memory that she could hardly keep the food down, but resolved to stay calm and dignified. _I am a good wife and a polite young lady_ , she told herself. Finishing the bread, Jeyne licked her lips and carefully cleaned her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief. _I am a good wife and a polite young lady. I am a good wife and a…_

A swift glance around the table told her that the Walders were still watching, and very closely. Their sly smiles were full of boyish malice. Jeyne had to finish her meal, and soon. With a trembling hand she picked up her cup of honeyed milk. At once, Jeyne knew she would fail. The silvered drinking vessel was heavy in her hand, its weight feeling as colossal as a mountain. How could she ever hold it? She brought the cup’s brim to her lips, her hands shaking in fear, and took the first small sip of milk. At that moment, all eyes in the hall were upon her. _If only I spill as little as a drop…_

She swallowed.

Not only a drop, but a gush of the pearl-white liquid spilled down her chin and onto her dress. Her new, clean lambswool gown was soaked with honeyed milk, and she felt the wet coldness spreading on her chest. Mindless terror seized Jeyne Poole. Her body was frozen in shock, turned to stone, while her mind slowly shattered into a thousand pieces.

Ramsay’s ice-pale eyes were staring at her. _Ghost-grey, they call the color._ From his corner, Theon looked at her with pity, opening his mouth as if to say something. Numb with terror, Jeyne turned her eyes to her husband’s in a mute plea for mercy. He never said a word, only those pale eyes staring, staring, staring.

”My lord…” she pleaded, her voice a weak half-whisper. She only wanted to die. “My sweet lord...”

“ _Boo!_ ” he shouted.

Jeyne let out a small shriek of terror. She fainted, collapsing in her seat and toppling forward onto the oaken trestle table. As her world vanished into merciful darkness, her last feelings were of relief.

The hall rang with sycophantic laughter, led by the Walders. Around the table, the Bastard’s Boys were guffawing loudly as if this was the most amusing thing they had ever seen. Ramsay laughed until the veins in his neck and temples bulged, truly enjoying himself. The soldiers and guardsmen and serving women laughed, and even Theon bravely laughed along with the rest.

“Reek, fetch the dogs,” Ramsay Bolton commanded, a satisfied smile lingering on his face. “It seems my wife hasn’t learned her lessons yet.”

 

**The End**


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